


to all the earthly remains

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Longing, Other, References to Depression, Sign Language, selectively mute wol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21558862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: He lets them take.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	to all the earthly remains

**Author's Note:**

> title from [ good riddance ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yco-B4BSaj4&list=PL53mjgVKFq7yu0LdAvpp42ZGLzRCkFKuz&index=) which yes is from the hades soundtrack

He lets them take. 

It's long since become a pattern, slipping into their room and watching them whisper and sign at the air and once they are still he becomes corporeal before them. The first time he had elicited a yelp, which he had laughed at, called undignified, and had not received anything since. It had been daunting at first, just his usual business of sewing doubt, it's so rare that his seeds do not bloom, but of course the Ascian killer doesn't bite. 

No, he thinks now, as he lets himself solidify in the cold room, he would have been disappointed if they did. 

“Who are you talking to, before I grace you with my presence?” They shrug, and reach out for him from their spot on the bed. “I'll start to feel jealous, mind you.” 

“You'll move on.” 

“Ha.” But he goes anyway, straddling their lap, the heavy warm fabric of his gown spilling between the two of them. “You wound me, Hero.” 

“Are your feelings so fragile?” 

“More shocked that our fair Hero is so rude behind locked doors.” The wind picks up from the balcony, the night sky alight with stars so bright he can see them from the corner of his eyes even here. 

“So I'm yours now?” 

“Hm.” He looks back at them in truth now, before leaning forward and stealing a kiss. “Who else dares lay claim?” They smile and it's soft and just the same as it's always been. This body is so different, but still, the smile stays the same. 

It hurts just as much every time. 

“A great many people.” They kiss him back, hands slipping under his coat to grip at his shoulders gently. They're still very delicate with him, even when it's become evident he doesn't need to coddling. This body isn't even real for Zodiark's sake, if he wanted to be coddled he- he doesn't even know what he would do because the thought never crossed his mind- him- their enemy in every feasible way. And them, being gentle. 

It's laughable.

“Public commodity.” He says like an insult and they nod, pressing their lips against his neck. “Even here.” 

“Can't seem to stay out of the spotlight.” 

Their mouth is warm, their breath more so, as if the cold night can't leech the heat from them. Whatever ghost they spend time with can't steal it either. 

“How many of them wish they could take my place?” Here, he means, in their lap. An enemy to the universe and an immortal is their first choice in intimate relations, for whatever reason. Or maybe not even their first. Maybe in those few moments when he diverts his attention else where they shack up with everything that moves. 

Still, then, he alone gets the luxury of their bed. 

It's the least he deserves. 

He wants to be more selfish, to ask, to demand exclusivity he knows they couldn't grant him even they wanted to. He should be able to have it. 

He doesn't though, so busy derailing his plans, so busy trying to save the world, they barely even acknowledge him. 

“A few, mayhap.” 

“Come now hero.” Their hands are on his sides, rubbing up and down, sharing their warmth wether he wants it or not. “Humble doesn't suit you.” He cups their face, forces their attention on him, just him. 

“Funny.” They mutter. Their eyes search his, for what he doesn't begin to assume. He prays for recognition but he knows he won't receive it. “That's always the highest selling point.” 

They don't deserve you, he wants to say. 

He settles for another kiss instead, longer, deeper, with tongue so that they have no choice but to dig their fingers into his sides. Not hard enough to bruise, perish the thought of them just doing what he wants, but hard enough to at least give him the suggestion of power. 

“Find better buyers.” 

He can feel them smile against his mouth before another kiss, and this one finally leaves him as close to breathless as he can be, considering he doesn't have to breath. 

The aether travels between them, two willing conduits, until any individuality is erased and the two of them are just an extension of one connection. Punch drunk off of it, he stares at their hands where they slip below the gown and rub against his bare skin, fingers fanning out on his hips. Their eyes are bright, practically glowing, wet with tears from the sensation and he can barely stop his own hands, where they yearn to cup their face and wipe those tears away. 

He shouldn't. It's too soft, to full of longing for a quick tryst that even someone as dense as they would have too notice. It's one thing to do it after the affair, but before they've even stripped down their plate? No. No, his hands instead go rigid on their shoulders, digging into the quilted fabric of their armor. 

“Like you?” They whisper, their mouth on his, teeth on his lips. 

Their aether dances between the two of them, bouncing back and forth. He tastes salt, their tears dripping into their mouth. Maybe even his own. Does he cry- can this body cry? It's not as if he's had much reason to experiment with it. 

Where better to start.

“Yes.” 

They hum against his neck, sucking a nasty bruise that would be a much larger problem if he was worried about trivial things like scandal or reputation. 

They get his robe off the fastest way they've found to which is dragging it from the bottom over his head. It's an oddly childish solution, and their excitement to see him bare is more like teenage desperation than anything actually alluring. This body is nice, sure, but it's not the nicest he's ever worn. From what little he bothers to learn from their usual partners, he's the outlier. 

Thin, old, bent over the way he is, he can't begin to imagine what they actually want, what they get out of these little trysts. Or maybe they're just into sickly. Mind, he doesn't actually have to look like this. He's sure if they ever actually asked for a different form, he could accommodate them. All they had to do was ask. 

They lay him down onto their bed, the blanket scratches against his back as they settle between his legs. They seem to like his legs, if the licking is anything to go by. It does feel rather endless, their tongue dragging along his thighs, pausing only to kiss or bite in turn. Their fingers rest on his knees, massaging the muscle there. 

vHe's loathe to tell them that he doesn't actually bother walking all that much, but then he would give them an excuse to not drown him in this bottomless sea of kindness. We're they this kind before, did they spend centuries waiting to see him just so that they could rub his joints warm? It seems that way, some how. Battle worn palms rub along his knees, his thighs, the juncture of his hips before he finally gets impatient enough to grab their hand and move it between his legs with a sound of frustration. 

Now it's their turn to smirk at him, to settle. They're never so cruel as to actually lord his desire over his head, but they're not so kind that they can keep the satisfaction off of their face. 

He lets them take. 

They don't ask for much, maybe that's why he's so generous, so eager to grant them access to all of him. 

Or maybe it's because he gets as high off of the memories as he does off of their aether. The phantom touches he's been chasing for eons finally real, finally warm, finally solid, that he can glut himself on the quiet moments that transports him so very very far back. 

Hythlodaeus is practically whispering in his ear. 

“Ghost.” They say and snap him out of his reverie. “I was talking to a ghost.” 

He makes eye contact for just long enough for them to be satisfied before they take him in their mouth. 

“A ghost.” He echos, one hand tangling in their hair. 

“Mmhm.” The humming feels nice, all the way up his spine. Their mouth is warm and their tongue is talented. There's little more he could ask for. A comfortable bed with a person who trusts him much too much. A nice view of the stars. 

“Ghost of who?” He asks, gripping their hair a little tighter and letting his hips jolt up to meet their lips, to feel the roof of their mouth, the back of their throat. 

“Hm.” They resettle, pulling one of his legs over their shoulder, as if he could be bothered to be flexible enough. “A very judgmental person.” They sign, to lazy to actually stop sucking on his cock. He blinks- that's an odd thing to complain about. “He thinks I should sooner die then let you into my bed.” 

Their fingers are fast, almost a blur when it's getting harder to concentrate. And when their teeth just barely graze him, 

“And you let me into your bed anyway.” 

They shrug. 

“They always hound me.” They sign slower now, incapable of multitasking when they're bobbing their head up and down. 

It's odd.

Not really what you expect a hero to say. But then, this is no ordinary hero. He should learn to stop being surprised by them. I He tries to search their eyes again, but they're squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corners. They're so dramatic sometimes. But they're still gorgeous, and the sight of them like that makes him hot- hotter. 

The aether between them is bouncing insanely, he feels it clump in his arm before it breaks through itself and settles into their calf before moving again, to just in his lower back. They suck harder and when he comes the aether might as well erupt out of him too. 

His chest is raising quickly, and he can feel the distant rush of blood in his ears. 

They keep his slowly softening cock in their mouth, content to just lay there for a while, head resting on his hip. They kick their boots off somehow, more impressive then anything they've done so far, in his opinion and kick of their leggings after. They remove clothes while barely moving, an occasional hum of satisfaction when Emet-Selch pats or rubs their head. 

“Where do you go to pick up ghosts?” 

“A cemetery.” They're finally bare and pulling a blanket over their lower half. He wonders how much time he has before their jaw starts cramping. 

“Spend a lot of time in cemeteries?” They're still for a long time, long enough that he closes his eyes and allows himself to start drifting off, wondering when he had become so comfortable with them, when they tap his hip. 

The heat is all encompassing.

“Not enough.” 

So dramatic. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always very appreciated
> 
> find me on[ tumblr ](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/) and [ twitter](https://twitter.com/licotain)


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